Miss Fix-It

“Lies,” I muttered under my breath.

He met my eyes. “Your own fault and you know it.”

“You started it.”

“Who started what?” the twins asked in unison.

“Never mind. Eat your fruit,” Brantley said waving me over to the side. “Rinse your finger off and dry it carefully.”

I did as he said as he basically emptied the contents of a hospital storage room onto the countertop. I was seriously impressed by the amount of Band-Aid’s, bandages, and various other first-aid type bits he had in there.

“Were you a doctor in a past life?” I asked holding the dark red towel around my finger.

“No,” he replied. “I’m a parent in the current one. You’d be surprised how often I restock this thing.”

I glanced at Eli who currently had a scrape on his elbow. “Maybe two weeks ago I would have been. Now? Not so much.”

He laughed, taking the towel. “You’re learning fast. Rest your arm on the counter and I’ll bandage your finger up.”

“I don’t think I’m learning anything,” I said slowly, putting my forearm on the towel. “Everything just makes a bit more sense now.”

“Whatever you say.” He got to work on wrapping my finger.

“What are you doo-win?” Ellie asked. “Upstairs.”

I turned my head to the side and offered her a smile. “I’m building your furniture, actually. I did your closet already. I was about to start your dresser when I cut myself.”

“Oh no! Is my dwesser okay?”

Brantley snorted.

“Perfectly fine. Unlike my finger.”

“You’re the one with butterfingers,” Brantley said, wrapping a bandage around my finger.

“You scared me,” I shot back. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Can you still build my dwesser?” Ellie asked around a mouthful of strawberries.

It was nice to know where her priorities were.

I was fine, not that she cared.

“Yes, I can still build your dresser,” I replied as Brantley taped my finger. “Amazing. You can do that, but not build a bookshelf.”

He sighed, dropping his head back. “I could build it if I had to. But, I don’t have to. You do.”

“I think you’re lying.” I admired his handiwork on my finger before crossing my arms and ultimately wincing as I put pressure on my cut.

“Daddy can’t build wego,” Eli said. “He twied to build a castle for Ewwie but couldn’t.”

“Okay, first,” Brantley waggled his finger at Eli, “There were bricks missing.”

“I stole dem.” Ellie grinned.

Brantley flicked his gaze to her. “Exactly. And second, I can build Lego, I just choose not to.”

“Because you can’t?” I offered.

“Don’t you have something to do?”

“Mandatory break,” I replied.

“On what grounds?”

“My finger really, really hurts.”

He stared at my hand, then shook his head. “I don’t know how to argue with that, so I’m not going to. I’m going to say okay and leave it at that.”

Smart choice. And he said I was the one who was learning fast…

“Can I help you build my dwesser?” Ellie asked, picking up an apple juice box and sipping on it so hard her cheeks hollowed out. Trails of red juice dribbled down her chin from the strawberries.

Brantley hit a button on the dishwasher and closed it. “What happened last time someone tried to help?”

“But, there’s no paint dis time,” she replied.

Ha. Point: Ellie.

“Kali already sliced her finger off. I can only see this ending badly.”

“I didn’t slice my finger off. It’s just a scratch.”

“A scratch that won’t stop bleeding.”

“Oh my god, you’re so pedantic. Whatever.”

He burst out laughing. “You’re feisty today. Is it that time of the month?”

“You know damn well it isn’t.” I put my hands on my hips. “I’m not taking this. I’m going to work.”

More laughter followed me as I made my exit, and I realized that was exactly what he was trying to get me to do.

I paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Well played!”

Again, laughter.

“Ellie! Let’s go!” I called, waving my hand toward her.

“Yes!” She threw her tiny fist into the air and jumped off her chair, scrambling after me as I headed upstairs.

***

Ellie tipped a tiny bag of the screws into her hand. Holding it out, she picked one screw off her palm and handed me it.

“Thank you,” I said.

Apparently, four-year-olds liked screws if it meant they could help. Organizing all of them had kept her amused for the entirety of this build—she’d taken them all out, sorted them into piles, and then put them back in bags.

“Kawi,” she said, watching me as I screwed together a drawer.

“Yes?”

“Do you wike my daddy?”

I paused mid-screw. That was a loaded question. “What do you mean?”

She shifted, then tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “Are you fwiends?”

“Sure. We’re definitely friends.”

“Are you fwiends who kiss?”

I blinked at her. This was not a conversation I’d ever pictured myself having. “Why do you ask?”

“’Cause he waughs wots now, and I know he doesn’t have any fwends.”

I tightened the screw, then set down both the completed drawer and my screwdriver.